


To The Winds

by TeeEye82



Category: Transformers: Prime
Genre: Gen, Mild violence maybe., That was a really dramamtic use of dirt Arcee.
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-17
Updated: 2013-04-17
Packaged: 2017-12-08 18:33:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,082
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/764660
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TeeEye82/pseuds/TeeEye82
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Arcee, Team Prime is scattered to the winds. For all we know, you and I could be the only ones left."</p><p>"I don't believe that, Jack, and I know you don't either."</p><p>"Maybe not... but the Decepticons outnumber us a hundred to one. Aren't there any more Autobots out there who could help?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	To The Winds

Arcee shut her optics at her human companion's question.

"The war for Cybertron took a heavy toll," she said softly, pausing momentarily to open her optics before quickly finishing her thought as she snapped her gaze to Jack. "But there _were_ others who escaped in the Ark."

The human boy motioned absently to the expanse before them, glancing off into the distance. "So... where are they?"

The femme warrior lifted her helm to the flat terrain of countryside, digging her servo into the soft ground beside her. An action similar to that of a mech somewhere else, who convulsed and ripped at his surroundings as he tried to hold back gasps of pain. On his right, the dull husk of a fallen comrade leaned against the wall, dim energon from an old wound dripping silently to the floor and seeping into the cracks of the shaft.

He had tried to save him, the struggling soldier had tried to stop the leaking in his friend, but he hadn't had enough time nor resources.

The sound of patrolling steps clanked from somewhere down the hall, and the still functional bot clamped his vocals shut and shook, waiting for the enemy to pass. His wild optics shifted to the grate not two paces away from where he rested, and he knew it would be a problem if the Decepticon looked up.

The steps grew louder, even and paced, no signs of being alerted to the survivor's position, and the Autobot felt a spark of hope brush against the agony within.

Until the 'Con stopped, the silence betraying the frail tink of liquid against metal, and the wounded mech felt his systems jolt in panic as he slid his gaze to where the puddle of energon had begun seeping over the edge of the grate.

The enemy backtracked two steps, looked up, and red locked with blue, the mech down below giving a smirk as he raised his weapon and the mech in the shaft quickly trying to scramble out of the way.

The blast of the gun rang out, the same sound that echoed across a battlefield elsewhere, accompanied by drowned out hollering of orders and the screaming hiss of heavy artillery ripping through the air. A sergeant narrowly avoided being crushed by a flier who'd been shot out of the sky, vaulting over a pile of debris and sliding down into a trench with three other soldiers.

"They've got us pinned down, Sarge!" A dark green and orange bot yelled over the ongoing exchange of fire and the explosion of a grenade, shielding his helm with an arm against the following shower of chips and chunks of rock.

"I'm aware of that, soldier. We can't let them gain control of this outpost, no matter if we are or aren't the last Autobots alive. We hold this position!" The black and purple mech looked sharply to the second soldier as he spoke up.

"We're running out of ammo, sir! I don't know how much longer we can hold them back!" A high pitched whistle split the air, and the sergeant wrapped his servos around the two mechs closest to him and threw them forwards against the opposing wall of the trench, the force of the detonating artillery above knocking him to the ground behind them.

"Oh Primus we're going to die here!" The third mech wailed from his place hunched in the corner, and a harsh sob escaped his vocals. The sergeant picked himself up halfway and pinned the cowering mech with a stern glare.

"No, we are not going to die. We're going to protect this outpost and we're going to find the others." The second mech from earlier dropped down beside the higher ranking officer, the first having disappeared since the explosion.

"What're your orders, sir?"

The mech in command silently looked between the shuddering bot and the one crouched beside him. They were afraid. He could see it in their optics, feel it echo in his own, the same way another Autobot did on another planet as he gazed into the wide red orbs of a Decepticon trooper.

Muzzle to muzzle, ped to ped, they stood before eachother, weapons raised and aimed and armour rattling in a mix of anticipation and terror.

They stared, both halfway to firing on the other, but for some reason neither had shot yet. It was probably from shock, the Autobot reasoned to himself, but he was more shocked by what he saw in his enemy rather than anything going on around them.

Fear, desperation, determination, a wild sort of anxiety that vaguely resembled a lust for more energon shed.

He wondered if maybe they weren’t so different from one another. Surely, the Decepticons once had family and friends and hopes and desires. They once milled about the streets and skies of their home planet without thoughts of destruction and control and wealth. They might have even been Autobots, at a time, if they hadn’t been treated so poorly during the High Council’s reign. Why were they fighting, again? What was the point of the War? Was it really any noble belief he killed for, or was it more selfish than he had lead himself to believe?

The Decepticon’s intakes had slowed from their previous panting, as had the Autobot’s, and the latter wondered if maybe his foe was coming to the same realizations. His gun lowered slightly, and the tension loosened as something akin to a smile threatened to form on his derma. The Decepticon looked as if he would mirror him, a softer more understanding expression coming to light in his crimson optics.

A sharp, hot, searing pain ripped through the Autobot’s chassis, and he was lifted from the ground howling and clawing at the arm that had thrust the blade between the seams of his spark chamber. Almost as quickly as it had come, the knife retracted, and he fell to the ground twitching and gurgling in agony as he watched his energon pool out around himself.

He looked up with wide optics at the retreating Decepticon, feeling oddly betrayed through the torment, and he raised one of his servos, reaching for the other’s in some vain attempt at dragging him back so he would know why.

The blue femme lifted her arm and opened her servo, letting the gritty powder in her hold go in the breeze, optics trained on the specks of dirt and sand as she spoke.

"Scattered to the winds."


End file.
